


The Long Road

by loghain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-25
Updated: 2012-03-25
Packaged: 2017-11-02 12:21:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loghain/pseuds/loghain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the middle of August, and they have a long drive ahead of them before they can reach their destination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Long Road

It's the middle of August, so they drive with the windows down and the sunlight streaming through. Dean's at the wheel for once, one of the rare times that John actually lets him drive. The heat's too much for anything; Dean's tossed his (John's) leather jacket into the back seat and has one arm dangling out the window, catching the breeze that comes in and stirs the hair he hasn't bothered styling. It's a little long at the front. He looks younger for it, younger than when he makes some ridiculous effort to spike it up even though all they're gonna do is muddy themselves on their next hunt.

John's dressed down, too, if taking off his jacket and rolling up his shirt sleeves can be considered dressing down. He watches Dean from behind sunglasses; the sun dances off his freckles, warm and yellow, and he sings along to soft rock radio whilst focusing on the endless length of highway in front of them.

John has to smile a little, and he stretches his arm out along the seat rest, touching the back of Dean's neck with his fingers. His son turns his head and says, "Hey, Dad," as if he's only just turned up, and then goes back to singing along. John rubs his fingers in the short fuzzy hair on the back of Dean's head, and consciously or not, his son tips his neck back into it.

They've got nothing on, for the moment at least, so they're on the road to California. If they don't find a job there, hustling for money and the beaches will keep them busy; the girls will keep Dean busier. But there's a whole lot of road between now and there.

A whole damn lot of it. "Think you can focus on the road?" John says, pulling off his sunglasses, and Dean glances at him, eyebrow raised. He gets it, after a second, and he grins, roguish and handsome. John's got no idea who he got that trait from; John's always been a shade too tidy or untidy for anything, Mary was always beautiful. 

"Of course I can," Dean says, proudly, and he shifts his knees just that little bit apart. He probably doesn't even realise it, but John catches it. His boy's always so eager. A little too eager, sometimes, but the mood is good and John isn't going to think on anything that could sour it.

Instead, he wraps his fingers against the back of Dean's neck and shifts himself a few inches closer. He keeps his fingers on Dean's neck, keeps his gaze on the road and drops his palm to his son's crotch, cupping and squeezing. Dean's lips part and the soft rock is forgotten about, but his eyes stay resolutely on the path ahead; the car doesn't tremor off path.

"Good boy," John murmurs, nosing Dean's cheek and humming pleasantly as he undoes the fastenings of his son's jeans and takes his cock in hand. It's a little dry at first, but he touches him anyway, stroking from root to tip until Dean lets out a stilted, uncomfortable moan, his cock swollen and hard.

John takes his hand away to lick a wet stripe across his palm before grasping Dean's cock again, squeezing as he strokes. He does it the way he knows Dean likes, a little rough and too slow and teasing. Dean's knees shake and his eyelids flutter when he groans, and John snaps, "Hey, no. Eyes open and forward, Dean."

"Yes, sir," Dean breathes, both hands on the wheel now with an iron grip. his knuckles bone white. John can see that he wants to buck, wants to fuck into John's hand, but he's a good son, a good soldier who does what he's told.

John kisses the skin of Dean's neck, praising him softly, rubbing his thumb over the head of his cock and smearing leaked pre-come. Dean groans and whimpers, "Dad, let me pull over, can I just - "

"No," John murmurs, "You keep driving, boy. We can stop when you come." He squeezes his fingers around Dean's cock again and his son groans loudly, hips bucking. Dean looks awful distracted, his eyes vacant; John's a little grateful that the road's empty, but he's still doing a damn good job of keeping the car on track.

John knows he's close when Dean gasps, "Dad," but then stutters and groans, "Daddy." The word sends blood rushing right to John's cock in a way it shouldn't, but he pays no mind for the moment, focusing on getting Dean off, eyeing the pretty blush painting his cheeks. Dean's orgasm hits him with a sharp, almost pained moan, streaking down John's fingers and across his jeans, and John strokes him through it.

Dean's knuckles look like they're about to rip through his skin by the time that John tells him, "You did good. Pull over."

When the car is at a rest in the dirt on the side of the highway, Dean sucks his own come from John's fingers and then they kiss, Dean hungrily licking into John's mouth. John keeps a hand on his son's jaw, forcing control over it, but he allows Dean close and  they kiss until Dean pulls away panting.

"Out the car," John says, before Dean can reach for him through his jeans. "I'll drive." Dean looks at him in surprise and John shrugs, stating fairly that, "I don't want to lose the daylight."

Dean tucks himself away and they climb out, swapping sides, though not before John takes a good long look at the come stains that Dean keeps trying to wipe off his jeans. Dean sits too close once they're back in the car, but John doesn't shoo him off; rather, he clears his throat as he pulls the car off the side of the highway and says, "My turn, Dean."

"Sure," Dean murmurs, and this time he doesn't need telling. Like a mirror image, his hand rubs at John's crotch, palming him until he's straining at his jeans. John likes to think he's a lot more composed though; he sucks in deep breaths but keeps his eyes on the road and his hands relaxed on the wheel. 

"Dad," Dean says quietly, like the start of a conversation as he rubs his fingers across the bulge in John's pants. "Are you gonna fuck me later?"

"That not enough for you?" John says, even though he knows it isn't. He likes to hear Dean say it. He wants to hear him say it.

"Dad, please," Dean murmurs flippantly, unzipping John's jeans and wriggling as he pulls his cock out, leaning down and ducking under John's arms. He peeps up at him, breathing hot air onto the tip of John's cock and he says, "You know I like to be fucked. Filled up. It's not enough just to come."

"We'll see," John says, and Dean's lips close around the head of his cock, sucking. John inhales sharply and keeps his eyes on the road rolling under their wheels as Dean moans softly, sinking his mouth down on the length of John's cock, hollowing his cheeks out and pressing his tongue against it.

Dean doesn't exactly suck dick like he was born to do it. By no means a natural; he's only good by virtue of being taught. But he  _looks_ perfect, glancing up with big green eyes and long eyelashes with red, plump lips around the girth of John's cock. He looks like he was made to do this, to swallow down his father's length like it's the most important task in the world.

John's resolve fails him. He just about manages to keep his eyes on the road, but more than anything he just wants to _watch_ Dean. "Fuck," he groans, threading a hand into Dean's short hair and pulling; Dean whimpers, a stunted, primal noise thanks to the obstruction in his mouth, and it sends jolts down John's spine. 

After a minute more of that, John caves and pulls over, cutting off the engine and shifting to spread his knees, fisting his hand against Dean's hair and settling back to watch him. Dean's enthusiastic about it, eyes in a smile as he sinks his mouth up and down. He pulls off to give himself a breath for air and John runs his thumb against Dean's lips as his son gasps, working his hand across John's length.

"Shouldn't you be driving?" Dean teases, and John chuckles breathlessly.

"Get back to it," he tells Dean, and inhales with a groan as Dean's mouth closes around him again. "Gonna make you sore later," he promises, and Dean makes a small, happy noise that hums against John's cock.

"Such a good boy," John murmurs, voice strained as he can feel his release creeping up on him, the fire scratching through his gut. "I don't want any more mess in the car, Dean," he warns lightly, and Dean's eyelids flutter in acknowledgement. He pulls back enough to suck the tip of John's cock again, palm squeezing at the base and then stroking, and John's orgasm hits and he pulls Dean's hair as he groans and bucks.

Anyone else could've been completely thrown by it, but Dean knows him better than that, better than anyone else, and manages to keep his mouth around his father. He swallows all that John has to give, and fuck if that isn't hot to see; John has to close his eyes to get any semblance of breath back.

"We should probably stop at a bar," Dean says as he's sitting up, nonchalant as anything, calm as hell despite the scratch to his voice as he reaches for a bottle of water and swigs down several mouthfuls. "Hustle some pool or something. Cash is running kind of low."

John nods, catching his breath and arranging himself. He's tempted to just tell Dean to get in the back seat; he'll be surprised if Dean isn't half-hard again and what he wouldn't give to have Dean squirming and begging under him.

Instead, he says, "Good plan," and pulls the car away with a screech of dust and tires.


End file.
